Whatever Floats Your Boat

Esebo quaked as the tall strangers walked up and down the line inspecting the members of his tribe. The one with the thin mustache and pointed beard seemed to be in charge. He had a powerful build and he used it to wield a weapon the likes of which Esebo’s people had never seen. It was the length of a tree branch, but as flat as a leaf. It was made of a strange substance, unknown to the inhabitants of the island, that made a ringing sound every time he withdrew it from the long, thin holder that hung from his belt. Esebo didn’t have to wonder what this tool was for. The strange visitors were demonstrating it for him.

All 73 inhabitants of the island were lined up an arm’s length apart with their hands tied behind their backs. Esebo’s wrists chafed against his bonds. His pigskin trousers were wet from the urine he had discharged when he had seen their chief, Yksuh, felled by one of their weapons. It cleaved his skull like a knife, but knives are made of stone and fit in the hand. Esebo knew how to use a knife because he skinned the pigs that the hunters on the island brought down with their stone-tipped spears, scraped the meat from their bones and cooked it on skewers of wood over the fire. Whatever they held weren’t knives, but certainly cut like them. Yksuh’s body languished in a pool of his own blood like a pig being readied for the fire.

As the men went down the line killing his tribesmen, Esebo noticed that their targets weren’t random. They inspected each person carefully before deciding whether or not to end them. Anyone who tried to fight back or run away was immediately dispatched, but the ones who were specifically chosen to meet this fate all had something in common. They were either very thin or very muscular. He supposed that they were trying to prevent any resistance to their onslaught, although none was brought. In fact, the islanders had rescued several of the strangers from drowning when their gigantic canoe had crashed against the rocks during a violent storm, splintering into a thousand pieces. When they were done and the ground was soaked with so much blood that it brought a metallic taste to every tongue, Esebo noticed that everyone who remained had the protruding bellies and hanging flesh that were the mark of those who enjoyed a good life. He never found out why he was temporarily spared. Those who remained were then killed one by one and the fat cut from their stomachs, thighs and arms. The fat was gathered up and put into sacks that were used to fill the space in the bottom of a crude vessel they had constructed out of the wreckage of the one they had lost. The buoyant fat ensured them the survival that its original owners had not enjoyed.